“Good … good night,” Kate stammered. She lay back, observing what quite possibly was a nightly ritual, as Doña Elvira plucked out as many of her own chin hairs as she could grasp between the nails of her thumb and index finger. The routine began with some intensity that faded as the old woman relaxed.
As soon as Doña Elvira was snoring beside her, Kate rolled from under the quilts and tiptoed barefoot around the room, itchier than she had ever been in her life and wondering if the fur hadn’t actually attracted fleas and bedbugs to her skin. Kate squeezed on Katherine’s footwear with a small sigh. The shoes Doña Elvira had given her to wear were not comfortable, and she longed for her running shoes, but they, along with her jeans, were nowhere to be seen.
When her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Kate crept stealthily down the corridor of the palace, sniffing at the cool, damp smell that had intensified with the darkness. This place could use a better ventilation system, she thought. Lanterns set in the walls cast flickering shadows across her path and she inhaled the hot, dusty stench of burning oil. She didn’t encounter anyone except one of the serving maids, scuttling quickly along with something under one arm. It looked like an embroidered cloth of some kind, and, in what Kate saw was a fit of terror, the girl dropped it on the ground, then hastily retrieved it as a loaf of bread fell out.
“Never mind,” said Kate, seeing the fear on the girl’s face. “Never mind, it’s all right.”
In response, the girl shoved the bread at her, crying, “Don’t tell. Oh, please … don’t tell!” before she scurried off, hugging the cloth close to her chest.
“Hey!” called Kate. “Come back! Take this with you!” But the girl had disappeared. Kate looked at the bread. Stale and crusty, it was no doubt meant for someone who was hungry enough not to mind its texture or its taste.
At last, Kate took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling the dank oiliness of the palace rooms leave her lungs. Then she headed down the moonlit path, hoping that Katherine’s knowledge would help her to find and saddle the gray pony. She would somehow have to make her way back to the tunnel—if only she could! It wasn’t far, if she could just remember the right course.
The full moon hung in the sky like a great orange lantern; it, and Katherine’s recollections of the grounds helped her to see her way in the direction of the stables. As she neared the gardens, she quickened her pace, afraid someone would discover her here, out in the open and away from the more populated areas of the palace.
When she bumped into the tall young man coming around the side of a garden wall, it was with such force that she stumbled and almost fell. Catching herself, she quickly stepped back with a startled exclamation. He gave an echoing exclamation as he struggled with his balance. She saw in his hands a loaf of bread like her own, and an incredulous giggle burst from her lips.
“I beg your pardon!” he said, brushing sandy hair from his eyes.
“I saw you this morning!” blurted Kate. He was the same fellow she’d seen emerging from the gate when she and Henry had ridden past, the one who’d taken care to hide himself.
“Are you … you have brought …” he stammered, staring at the bread she carried. Then he took her arm and drew her inside the gate.
“Quickly, then, let’s inside before someone spies us here,” he said, leading the way toward a small thatched shed.
Deftly, the young man lit a match and held it to a candle that was on the window ledge. In the flickering light, Kate took in the garden tools, bowls of seeds, and then, on the floor, she saw the wolf cub, curled up on an old piece of sacking. It opened one eye and surveyed them balefully, its strange, pale face tilted up like a baby bird’s.
“Oh, Princess Katherine! I’m … I’m very sorry, I did not recognize you a moment ago,” stammered the young man, giving her a little bow. “Please forgive me for being so … so forward.”
“It is quite all right, William,” she said, accepting the knowledge that flowed from Katherine’s memories. She tried to remember his last name but was unsuccessful. He bent down, perhaps to cover his embarrassment, and dipped some of his bread in water and then offered it to the cub, who lapped at it hungrily.
“So, you have discovered my secret,” said William, darting a quick look at her face. “And … you are … you are not unhappy with the arrangement?”
“What?” she asked.
“You are … you … you support the care of this young creature?” he stammered.
Kate nodded. “Absolutely. There is no reason for it to suffer.”
His face seemed to relax and he contemplated her more obviously.
“Was there a sound that set you to find him here?” he asked.
“No—” Kate started, and then realized it was going to be difficult to explain the fact of being out, carrying bread. “Well, I saw you earlier when we rode by,” she said. “I just guessed.”
“Quite a deduction,” he said. “I remember you once speaking to Prince Henry about the hunt. But then you were more concerned for foxes.”
“Yes!” said Kate, trying to match his memories with ones she was hurriedly inventing. “And the Prince talked of other royal hunts in other courts.”
William looked confused. “Other hunts?”
“In Asia, don’t they hunt lions?” said Kate.
“In Asia?” he repeated.
Kate knew she was in over her head. Maybe the English had not yet discovered Asia. Why hadn’t she paid more attention at school?
“I thought the wolves were all gone,” she blurted.
“As did I,” he replied. “But you can’t be a hundred percent certain about anything, as we have discovered.” Not a hundred percent certain. About anything, really, Martin had said in another place at another time.
William’s tone was formal, and Kate wondered what the history was between them. Other than the obvious five hundred years, she thought wryly. They had not been close friends, she was sure, but Katherine seemed to trust William. As a friend of Henry’s, he was … reliable. The word popped into her head and seemed to fit him perfectly.
“When I saw the pelts all stacked up at MacQueen’s, I felt sick to my stomach,” she said honestly, recalling the horrible smell of the rubbish heap. She was queasy even now, remembering. She looked back at the little creature whose neck muscles seemed too weak to hold up its head. Poor little thing.
“I have been sickened by the extermination of wolves for as long as I can remember,” confided William. “Years ago, my father fenced some of our land off for sheep, and although we had some concern, wolves were never a problem as long as we watched over the sheep by day and brought them into their enclosures at night.” He scratched his arm and then continued, more slowly. “That’s the secret to keeping sheep, unless you are the kind of farmer who cries wolf to cover up your lazy habits.”
“Like the boy who cried wolf,” said Kate, thinking of the children’s story.
“What?” said William.
“Where is your father’s land?” asked Kate to divert him, sitting down beside the cub and stroking its tawny back.
“Some distance away, beside the Thames,” he replied, “where the land is drier and more suitable for ungulates.” He scratched again, the other arm this time.
“Ungulates?” asked Kate.
“Sheep,” he said and smiled. “I sometimes forget that everyone does not share my store of farming knowledge. My apologies.”
“And why aren’t you there now, looking after sheep, instead of here at the castle?” she asked, thinking how easy it was to talk to this fellow. The sandy-haired lad dropped his head.
“I thought you knew,” he said, softly. “Father was arrested to the Tower three years ago, and because mother is a cousin of Elizabeth of York, I was offered a position here at the royal palace as one of Prince Henry’s companions. As his cupbearer, actually, but I’m invited to study alongside, which is not an easy assignment.” He picked a flea from inside his sleeve,
looked at it, and then squashed it unceremoniously between thumb and forefinger.
“And why was your father arrested?” asked Kate, hearing a gentle tone in her voice that surprised her.
“He was suspected of treason,” William replied. “But he’s innocent! He was accused of working to locate the Plantagenet nephews of Richard III—but that is preposterous. Father is a farmer, and loyal to Henry VII. Whoever’s been spreading rumors about him is crooked. Someday I’ll prove that to them all and he’ll be released. I hope,” he added fervently.
“I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I hope so, too.” She had vague recollections of a story about two children in the Tower of London but couldn’t remember any details. Why hadn’t she gone on that tour! Then she’d be much more prepared for what she was experiencing now!
William looked at her for a moment and then turned his attention back to the cub.
“God be willing, he’ll be released,” he repeated, but Kate knew he wasn’t referring to the animal.
They watched the wolf for a few minutes until it had eaten its fill. Kate dipped the remaining bread in water, softening it and then setting it beside the bowl for the cub to eat later. Then she stood up, brushing the straw from her skirts.
“I should be going,” she said, wondering how she could get to the stable from here.
“I’ll accompany you back,” said William, courteously holding open the door and curtailing any further plans for tonight.
“I hope it will be safe,” she said, looking over at the helpless creature. William nodded, snuffed out the candle, and then followed her out of the hut.
“As long as it’s eating and drinking, it’ll come round,” he said. “That one’s got a strong heart, I can tell that much. And the will to live.”
The moon shone brightly on the path, making the stones underfoot a ghostly white. Kate wondered fearfully if anyone inside the castle could hear their footsteps and tried to walk quietly, but William’s passage was so noisy she was sure he was waking everyone. She looked up at the walls looming above them, and the feeling of being small and insignificant washed over her again.
“It’s quite a place, is it not?” said William. “I heard it cost the Tudors nine hundred pounds to employ the master mason and his men when the castle was rebuilt.”
“Indeed,” said Kate, the formal response occurring almost naturally.
“I’d rather be out under the stars, if the truth be known,” said William, “than sleeping inside this place. For if a fire came upon us, in minutes we’d be burnt to cinders. Well …” and here he stopped at the door to the great hall, “good night.”
“Good night,” she said in return, stifling a sudden urge to laugh at his quick change of heart, one minute predicting doom, the next cheerfully bidding her adieu. William headed away to the rooms he shared with others of his standing, while Kate waited, pondering her next step. Inside the hall, Kate could see servants sleeping on the floor, and, by the light of a few lanterns, she could also see mice, or maybe rats, scampering among the rushes. Strengthening her resolve, she determined to get herself out of here. Chest tight in a sudden burst of urgency, she turned to go back outside when a familiar voice caught her by surprise.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Doña Elvira’s tone was fierce and, with a sinking heart, Kate knew she’d have to try her escape plan another night. Her feet ached in the borrowed shoes; she’d better get her own shoes back as soon as possible.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said weakly. “And felt a bit of night air would do me good.”
“The night air will kill you soon as heal you,” snapped the old woman. “Come with me. We’re needed on the Queen’s side. One of Lady Margaret’s own is due.”
“Prince Henry’s Grandma is giving birth?” said Kate stupidly.
“Not Lady Margaret, of course! One of her maids!”
“Having a baby? One of her maids is having a baby? Here?”
“Well, where would you expect?” snapped Doña Elvira. “In the sky? Now hurry up.”
“Well, I could just go back to bed—” started Kate eagerly.
“You’ll stay with me,” was the tight-lipped response. “Fool girl wandering about at night. Tomorrow I’ll see about the leeches.”
Tired and disappointed, Kate limped after Doña Elvira through dimly lit corridors until they reached Lady Margaret’s apartments. These were more richly furnished than their own rooms, with thick red and gold hangings on the walls. She guessed the floors were marble and there were velvet carpets strewn about. Like her own chambers, the walls were plastered brick, but in some of the bigger rooms she could see linen-like paneling and, in one very big room, a brilliant tapestry that must be fifty feet long. It depicted a scene from the Bible, Kate thought, recognizing the style from a children’s picture book she’d had in New York. Up a stone staircase were the more private bedchambers and, in one of these, a young woman lay moaning on a pallet of straw. Doña Elvira checked her under the gaze of four other wide-eyed maids and then sighed.
“Well, there won’t be a baby born this night. Just too many suckets eaten at dinner.” She drew open her bag and produced a leather packet. “Mix this powder in water and give it to her every hour until the pains diminish. Come and get me if there are any new symptoms.”
“What was the remedy?” asked Kate, feeling a cramp settling in her own stomach from the night’s excitement.
“Powdered sapphires,” said Doña Elvira.
15
The mathematics of loss
“SAPPHIRES ARE USEFUL in case there’s a touch of the sweating sickness,” Doña Elvira continued. “I doubt very much this is the case. There’s certainly no labor and, since it’s early, I won’t give her any juniper. With God’s grace, we’ll have a few more weeks of resting-in before that baby is born.”
“Oh,” said Kate, shocked at the idea of eating sapphires. She’d better not complain of any illness or who knows what she’d be given as a remedy.
Soon she found herself back under the covers with her strange bedfellow, observing again the ritual picking of the beard. This time, Kate was exhausted, but instead of dropping right off to sleep, her mind swirled with bits and pieces of the day. What if the tunnel worked as a kind of elevator, an elevator that started and stopped at particular points in its respective universes? If this were true, she could go back to her own place and time at the original point of exit. Except that the other Katherine was there. Taking her place. The idea was mathematically sound. The princess and she had merely changed sides on their universal axes.
Dizzily, she wondered what the princess intended to do. Once Kate crossed back into her own time, could she and Katherine both stay there? As identical twins or something? Romantically, the idea of being an identical twin separated at birth took hold. Then her mind jumped haphazardly to what she would have to do to manage her escape.
Her eye fell on a brass candelabra that was standing on a shelf by the bed, its three candles flickering on burnt stubs. What if she used it as a weapon and smashed Doña Elvira on the head? As soon as the idea occurred, Kate knew she could never go through with it. Doña Elvira had been with Katherine ever since she was a child, and Kate sensed that Katherine loved Doña Elvira better than she loved anyone. Memories rushed in before Kate could stop them, and her heart beat faster as she tried to keep her perspective, and Katherine’s, separate and distinct.
On the boat, Katherine had been miserably seasick. Doña Elvira had sat beside the bed, reading from the Bible and offering drinks of water. Sometimes she’d placed a cool cloth on Katherine’s forehead; sometimes she’d rubbed her wrists and arms to keep them from cramping.
In this new place, it had been Doña Elvira who’d encouraged her, promised that she’d get more and more comfortable as time went on. And she’d been right. Katherine was comfortable here. She didn’t want to live anywhere else and hoped she could fulfill whatever role God intended for her. And she lov
ed Prince Henry.
The memory of the door rose again in Kate’s thoughts, an even clearer picture than she’d had in the tunnel. It was a big wooden door, ornately carved and tightly shut. She was standing outside, awaiting a message. The message was something to do with her future here. She wanted the door to open but, at the same time, she wanted it to stay shut. If there was to be bad news, perhaps it was better not to know. The King might choose her as Henry’s bride or he might cast her as Arthur’s widow for the rest of her life. Whatever her fate was, it was in the King’s hands.
The image of the door was smoothly replaced in Kate’s mind with other things. The apple blossoms in the orchard in spring, when all you had to do was walk beneath the trees to have a petal crown delivered by the wind. A long white dress that hung somewhere just out of reach. The taste of lemons, freshly squeezed on the creamy fish that was served on long pewter plates, carried to the table by someone in red livery.
Lemons. The thought of them snapped Kate back into the old fear, darkness welling up in her throat until there was no room for air. She gasped, panic rising in her chest, her limbs thrashing about in a desperate bid for air. Then Doña Elvira was leaning over her, gently pushing her onto her stomach and rubbing her back.
“Think of something nice,” said the nurse, gently. “Think of the snowdrops and daffodils. Think of tulips and cowslips. Think of roses. You are happy here in England. Think of how you love the springtime.”
Kate thought of these things and began to breathe naturally again. Then, in a flash of memory, she saw a vase of roses on a coffee table, beside a bowl of lemon drops. She saw her five-year-old self, sitting on the couch after the accident with the broken pitcher, blood dripping from her hand. In desperation and fear, she’d pulled her T-shirt over her head, trying to make a cocoon in which to curl up. But instead of creating a safe haven, she’d gotten stuck in the tight cloth, the T-shirt stretched to capacity, caught around her head and binding her arms. This was how her father had discovered her when he’d come home from work. Bound and silent, her tears worn out, terror a great dark shape behind her eyes.
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